Lady Starkey then explained that they had accomplished the long journey very satisfactorily, and had seen a great deal. They had travelled from Paris to Marseilles by rail and performed the latter part of the journey by post. It might have been accomplished more expeditiously but not more agreeably. Mr. Warburton could scarcely find words to express his delight in beholding his daughter again, and left the talking to Lady Starkey, but it could be seen that he was deeply moved. The meeting was not interrupted, and half an hour flew by before Stanley went in quest of Lady Talmash and Rose, who were filled with pleasurable surprise.
Altogether, the meeting was a most joyful one, and made the new comers ample amends for their long and somewhat fatiguing journey.
The Squire was also much gratified to find his old friend Sir Randal at the hotel, and both he and Lady Starkey were delighted to make the acquaintance of the Comte de Clairvaux, whom they well knew by reputation.
All necessary arrangements had been entrusted to the clever courier, by whom charming apartments, commanding a view of the Mediterranean were provided, and plenty of time was left the Squire and his wife to take a walk with Mildred on the Promenade des Anglais before dinner.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
MR. WARBURTON AND LADY STARKEY AT NICE.
MR. WARBURTON and Lady Starkey were charmed with Nice. It surpassed all their expectations, and they were never tired of the promenade near the blue Mediterranean.
The society at the hotel exactly suited them, and they did not care to increase it by any new acquaintances. They met Sister Aline in Mildred’s room. But the party that met together each day on the parade in the public gardens was now very strong, and needed no additions, though new comers were always anxious to join it, but the Comte and Sir Randal took its direction upon themselves, and prevented its increase.
It was now quite clear that the Comte had begun to entertain a tender feeling for Lady Talmash, and notwithstanding her assurances to the contrary to Charles Kynaston, she seemed to give her new admirer every encouragement. He was always with her, and it is quite certain she could have dismissed him at a moment’s notice, if she had been so inclined. But though Charles Kynaston gave her repeated hints, she never attended to them. She had now become identified with the Comte by the grand monde at Nice, and didn’t care for giving him up.
Sir Randal, though he proceeded in a much quieter manner, had likewise gained the reputation of a man of gallantry. Several ladies threw out lures to him, but without success. He was not to be captured easily.
Now that her aunt had arrived, Rose was obliged to spend much more time with her, and less with Marston Malpas. But this she did not regret, as she had become rather tired of Malpas.
Mr. Warburton devoted himself to his daughter, for whom all his former affection seemed to be revived.
Feeling he should soon be separated from her — perhaps, for ever — he spent as much time as possible in her society, and was pleased and surprised at the change that had taken place in her opinions. The daily discourse that took place between him and Sister Aline seemed to do him a great deal of good, and he tried to treasure what he heard in his memory, as he felt it would be a great comfort to reflect upon it hereafter.
“I hope you are happy here, my dear child?” he said to Mildred one day.
“Perfectly happy, dearest papa,” she replied, regarding him with eyes full of affection. “I am so thankful you have come to see me.”
“Yes, dear Mr. Warburton” remarked Sister Aline, “you may rest satisfied that your warm parental regard is fully appreciated. At one time I was afraid you would not see your daughter again.”
“Heaven has listened to my prayer, and I am truly grateful,” he replied, earnestly.
“I hope you won’t leave me soon now you have come,” said Mildred. “Your presence is an inconceivable comfort to me.”
“I will stay with you as long as I can, depend upon it,” replied her father. “And I want no inducement to do so, for I think Nice a most delightful place.”
“But you do not enjoy it sufficiently,” said Mildred. “You ought to pass more of your time on the promenade or in the Jardin Public.”
“If you could go out, I would accompany you,” he replied. “As it is, I prefer being with you here.”
Just then Georgette announced the Comte de Clairvaux, and the next moment that distinguished personage entered and bowed to the company. He conducted his discourse in English, as he fancied the Squire would like it best, and he was right.
He had not been long in the room when he began to sing the praises of Lady Talmash, and spoke of her in rapturous terms.
“Are you aware, M. le Comte, that her ladyship is engaged?” observed Sister Aline.
“To whom?” he rejoined, astounded.
“To Mr. Charles Kynaston. I believe I am correct?” she said appealing to Mildred.
“No doubt about it,” rejoined the other. “She told me so herself.”
“Diable!” exclaimed the Comte. “I wonder she didn’t tell me.”
“Possibly she may give you the preference after all, Comte,” said the Squire, laughing. “It seems as if she meant it.”
“I hope she may,” rejoined the Comte. “I don’t doubt what I am told, but I should never have guessed it. I don’t think her ladyship has spoken a dozen words to Mr. Kynaston since I have been here. ‘Very likely she is tired of him.”
“I’ll tell you what to do,” said the Squire, who seemed in a jesting mood. “You shall play with him for her.”
“Quite impossible, papa,” said Mildred. “Are you not aware that Charles Kynaston has forsworn cards and dice?”
“How long ago?” asked the Comte.
“Since he won a large sum at Mentone,” repeated Mildred.
“Then he will soon break his vow,” said the Comte. “But I fancy I hear a well-known voice without.”
As he spoke the door was opened by Georgette, and Lady Talmash entered, followed by Charles Kynaston and Stanley. Her ladyship seemed enchanted to find the Comte, and accepted the chair he offered her, after shaking hands with Mildred and Sister Aline.
Stanley came forward, but Charles Kynaston soon found himself de trop.
In spite of the intelligence he had just received, the Comte continued his attentions to her ladyship.
“I looked for you on the parade, but did not find you,” he said.
“I cannot tell you how it happened,” she replied. “I was certainly there, and should have been charmed to meet you.”
“I saw the Comte, at a distance,” remarked Charles Kynaston, “Why didn’t you tell me?” rejoined her ladyship rather sharply.
“I had no idea you wished to speak to him.”
“I wished to do so particularly.”
“Then I’m excessively sorry — pray forgive me.”
But her ladyship refused to listen to him.
“I tell you what it is, Charley,” whispered Stanley, “you’ve got a rival — a formidable rival.”
“I won’t stand it any longer,” replied Kynaston, in the same tone. “I’ve had too much of it already. I’ll speak to the Comte at once.”
“Don’t,” said Stanley, restraining him. “Take my advice, and leave things alone.”
“S’death! shall I stand still, and see him carry her off?”
“Poh! he doesn’t mean to carry her off,” replied Stanley. “But you’ll certainly lose her if you interfere.”
“What would you have me do, then?”
“Submit,” rejoined Stanley.
“Well, I’ll try, but it will be hard work,” replied the other.
Fancying, from the young man’s manner, that he had withdrawn his pretentions to her ladyship’s hand, the Comte felt quite easy.
But Charles Kynaston was not so indifferent as he seemed, and resolved to come to a speedy understanding with her ladyship.
It must be owned that it required a good deal of patience to bear calmly all the annoyances the young man had to p
ut up with that morning, and though Stanley advised him to submit, he wondered he did so.
While paying his court to Lady Talmash, the Comte found means to make himself generally agreeable.
A ball was given that night at the Cercle Massena, for which he had procured tickets, and these he distributed among the company.
Charles Kynaston seemed inclined to refuse, not wishing to be beholden to one whom he regarded as a rival, but a significant look from her ladyship made him alter his determination.
“I hope Lady Starkey and her niece will grace the ball with their presence,” said the Comte to Mr. Warburton. “Perhaps it is too much to expect the pleasure of your company?”
“I never dance,” replied the Squire, laughing, “and should only be in the way, so you must be good enough to excuse me. I would rather spend the evening here.”
“As you please,” said the Comte. “But it will be a very gay ball. Our friend, Sir Randal, has promised to attend it, with Mr. Marston Malpas.”
“Ah! Sir Randal will continue gay to the last,” said the Squire. “My dancing days are over.”
Soon after this, the party separated, and several of them proceeded to the Promenade des Anglais, but the Squire did not quit his daughter’s room.
His affection for her had increased since his arrival at Nice, and he could not bear to be absent from her. Though he received satisfactory assurances from the physicians, he was full of uneasiness lest she should have another dangerous attack, and every possible care was taken to ward it off.
That night, when all the rest of the party had gone to the ball, Mr. Warburton was seated with his daughter. They were alone, for Sister Aline had retired to her own room.
In reply to her father’s inquiries as to her continued improvement, Mildred said, “My improvement is very slow, dearest papa, and you must promise to take me home at once if I have a recurrence of those dangerous symptoms. Much as I like Nice I don’t wish to die here.”
“Your wishes shall be attended to,” he replied. “But I trust you may go back cured.”
“Do not delude yourself, dearest papa; I shall never be perfectly cured.”
And she then told him how she had swallowed poison, from the effects of which she had never recovered.
Mr. Warburton was greatly distressed by the narration.
“Heaven forgive you, my dear child, and spare you!” he exclaimed. “I know your repentance has been deep and sincere.”
“And my breast is lighter than it was, but it is still heavily burdened. I cannot bear to look back on the past. What a happy life I have thrown away!”
“You may still have a happy life, dear child,” he said.
“Not unless I can purchase oblivion,” she rejoined almost in accents of despair. “In spite of all my efforts to repress them, the recollection of certain follies I have committed will rise before me and torment me. No, I do not desire to live long. I shall be best out of the way. But I pray for a tranquil end.”
“And that you will have, rest assured, dear child,” he said.
“You comfort me greatly,” she replied. “My anticipations have been gloomy and despairing. But for good Sister Aline, who has likewise greatly comforted me, I should not be living now.”
“Yes, you owe much to her,” said Mr. Warburton.
“I owe her everything,” replied Mildred. “That which is far dearer to me than life — my chance of salvation.”
“I rejoice to find you in such a frame of mind,” said her father. “But I must express a hope that you may long be spared.”
“Wherefore?” she rejoined. “I repeat I am only in the way, and interfere with the happiness of others. Hear me, dearest papa. When I am gone, it is my wish that Stanley should marry Rose Hylton. She will make him an excellent wife, and the match will be agreeable to all.”
“I cannot bear to contemplate such an event,” said her father.
“Why not?” she asked.
“Because you must needs have left us before it can take place.”
“What of that? You must lose me sooner or later.”
“No more, or you will break my heart!” he cried, hurrying out of the room.
CHAPTER XXIX.
MILDRED DESIRES TO LEAVE NICE.
A GOOD deal of amusement was going on at Nice at this time, and owing to the attention of the Comte de Clairvaux, Lady Talmash and the ladies of her party partook of it all.
Scarcely an evening passed on which something attractive did not take place — ball, concert, or opera — and all went to these entertainments except the Squire. Lady Starkey was as gay as the rest, but declared she only acted as her niece’s chaperon. The mornings were passed on the various promenades, and in the public gardens, or at pique-nique parties — and at such times the Squire could be seen amid the fashionable throng, but never in the evening.
But for Lady Starkey, it is probable Sir Randal de Blundeville would not have been found so frequently as he was at these reunions; but he liked her society, and her ladyship was pleased to have him with her.
Thus the time passed very pleasantly, and the same sort of thing might have gone on for a month or two longer, had it not been interrupted by Mildred’s illness.
Again, the ruthless mistral did the mischief, and inflicted a cold upon her, that alarmed everybody.
When she recovered, which she did by the constant attention and skilful treatment of Dr. Travis, she had a private talk with her father, and said to him, “Now, dearest papa, I must remind you of your promise to take me back, in case Nice should fail to restore me. I am anxious to go, as I have a presentiment that the next attack will be fatal. I have said nothing on the subject to any one, except Sister Aline, who agrees with me as to the danger, but advises me to stay here to the last. But I won’t do that, if I can help it.”
“You shall not be kept here against your wish, depend upon it, my dear child,” said her father; “and I must own you do look very ill.”
“I am convinced I have not long to live, papa, or I should not speak to you thus,” she rejoined. “I have not mentioned my wish to Stanley, for several reasons — and I feel sure you will grant my last request.”
“You are right, my dear child, I will,” replied the Squire. “Let Stanley remain here a month longer, if he likes.”
“A month will be too long, papa,” she rejoined. “All will be over by that time.”
“Don’t make yourself uneasy,” he rejoined. “You shall start by the next steamer to Marseilles, and I will go with you, and take care of you.”
“Oh, thank you, dearest papa,” she cried. “Sister Aline and Georgette will look after me. The others can follow at their leisure.”
“Yes, that will be the best plan,” he rejoined. “But I wish to speak to Lady Starkey, and hear what she has to say.”
“I know what she will say, papa. She won’t like to be hurried. Nor will Lady Talmash — or Rose, Their gaiety must not be interrupted. Let me disappear.”
“It shall be so,” said her father. “With regard to the others it matters not. But have you no wish that Stanley should accompany you?”
“I am certain he would rather remain, and why tear him hence? I have shown myself selfish all my life, but now I will act otherwise.”
Mr. Warburton regarded her with admiration.
“When do you think you will be ready to start on the homeward journey?” he asked.
“To-morrow,” she replied. “Is that too soon?”
“Not for me,” he rejoined. “But I don’t think the steamer takes its departure for Marseilles till the day after. As the weather is so fine, I feel sure you will enjoy the little voyage, and I sincerely hope it may do you good.”
“The plan you propose is charming, papa,” she replied, “and is infinitely preferable to the carriage of a vetturino. This very morning I was gazing on the blue Mediterranean, and thinking how much I should like a few hours on its waters — and now I shall have my wish.”
“I will go at once
and explain our plans to Lady Starkey,” said her father. “I am sure she will approve of them, and I feel almost certain she will remain here a week or two longer. Make your own preparations for departure, and I will take care of all the rest.”
“My preparations will be easily made, dear papa,” she said, “and I again thank you most sincerely for so readily granting my request.”
“Could you suppose I would refuse you anything?” he replied, regarding her affectionately.
Just as he was about to take his departure, Sister Aline came in, attended by Georgette.
“Mildred has some news for you,” he said. “I hope you will think it good news.”
“I won’t keep you in suspense,” said Mildred, “and it concerns Georgette as well as you.
“Papa has kindly promised to take me back to Beaucliffe. We shall start by the next steamer to Marseilles.”
“Delightful!” exclaimed the irrepressible Georgette.
“Knowing what you, yourself, desire, I rejoice at the information,” said Sister Aline.
“Pray let nothing be said about my approaching departure?” said Mildred, “I don’t wish it talked about, and no one will miss me.”
“There you are greatly mistaken, my dear child,” remarked the Squire. “Many persons, of whom you know nothing, are greatly interested in you, and will be sorry when you are gone. You may console yourself with that reflection.”
“Yes, I can assure you, Madame,” said Georgette; “there are many, many persons, who constantly inquire after you.”
“I did not suppose it possible,” said Mildred; “but I am greatly obliged to them. Nice has been very kind to me, and I am not insensible to the sympathy shown me. If I fly from the place at this moment, it is not that I have any complaint to make, but that I have tender recollections elsewhere that draw me forcibly towards another spot. I yield to them, because they overpower me.”
“Content you, my dear child, you will soon be back at Beaucliffe,” said her father.
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